


Jinx

by Little Spoon (AlwaysTheLittleSpoon)



Series: Occasionally Domestic [10]
Category: Teen Wolf (TV)
Genre: Alternate Universe - Post-Canon, DJ Derek Hale, Derek has a sense of humor, Domestic, Dry Humping, Emotional Hurt, Established Relationship, Fluff and Angst, Insecure Stiles Stilinski, M/M, Making Out, Pet Names, Scent Kink, Seduction, Self-Esteem Issues, Sharing Clothes, Teasing, Wolf Derek, boyfriend shirt
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2017-04-10
Updated: 2017-04-10
Packaged: 2018-10-17 01:51:44
Rating: Mature
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 3,270
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/10583934
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/AlwaysTheLittleSpoon/pseuds/Little%20Spoon
Summary: Derek has finally done it. He found a way to make Stiles shut up. It's like a dream come true... or is it? If Derek won't voluntarily say his name, then Stiles will just have to take matters into his own hands and coax it out of Derek, even if that means playing a littledirty...





	

Stiles puttered around the kitchen in a pair of boxers and one of Derek’s stretched out shirts that had one too many holes from clumsy claws. Theoretically, the shirt should fit him. They were roughly the same height, but Derek’s impressive bulk had only gotten bulkier over the years. The dude was shredded, and Stiles totally loved it.

It was strange to be dwarfed by his own boyfriend - a boyfriend that was only two inches taller than him, as he reminded Derek regularly. But the shirt hung off his slightly more trim figure. He wasn’t a twig. He had muscle. Sure, it was leaner, but it was there. For whatever reason, Derek thought he was sexy, and Stiles could live with that.

The best part of wearing Derek’s clothes was that they smelled like Derek. Surreptitiously sniffing things must have been a habit Stiles picked up from years of running with a wolf pack because Derek smelled damn good to him. So good, that Stiles liked to smother himself in Derek’s scent, not that his werewolf boyfriend seemed to mind. In fact, Derek encouraged it.

Stiles still recalled disgust the first time Derek rubbed his cum into Stiles’ skin and bathed him with saliva. Now, it was just a part of the experience. It wasn’t a good time until Stiles was covered in spunk and werewolf kisses. The cuddling was nice too.

Stiles lifted the corner of one of the slices of French Toast in the pan to check for optimal brownage. Yes, that was the technical term. It was a nice golden colour, so he flipped it out onto the plate already stacked with four other slices. He sprinkled a little icing sugar over the top and drizzled maple syrup. The real stuff. Not the fake, artificially flavoured sugar in a bottle usually sold in grocery stores. Living with a werewolf had definitely improved Stiles’ tastes, though curly fries were still the greatest thing ever.

A plate of fresh French Toast in hand, Stiles padded barefoot into the common living area where Derek was currently parked on the couch with his laptop and headphones. The bass from his latest mix pulsed loud enough that Stiles could hear it. He always wondered how Derek could listen to music so loud with his extra-sensitive hearing. But it was that hearing that allowed Derek to do what he did.

Becoming a DJ had been something Derek sort fell into. For the first few months - seven, actually - Derek hadn’t had a lot to do in New York, but apparently, Stiles’ taste in music sucked. So, with his superior ears, Derek set out to create what Stiles believed to be genius tracks that worked on so many different levels, and Derek even managed to slip in a few little easter eggs for other supernaturally inclined that may happen to listen.

“Der,” Stiles called. “Breakfast.” He leaned over the back of the couch and pecked his boyfriend on the cheek. “Stop working, snugglewolf, and spend some time with me before I go to class later.”

Derek snorted and set the giant headphones he used for mixing aside with his laptop. “If I have to,” he said.

Stiles faux gasped, a hand over his heart, and held Derek’s breakfast hostage out of reach, but Derek grabbed him by the back of the neck and dragged him down into a sloppy kiss. “You are forgiven,” Stiles said, a little breathless. His lips tingled from the rough burn of Derek’s scruff.

“Good,” Derek said. He accepted the plate of food with an extra peck on Stiles’ lips. “Thanks, baby.”

Stiles flushed and mumbled a quick “no problem,” before he scurried back to the kitchen for his own plate. He wasn’t ever going to get used to that. The sweet, cuddle, adorable side of Derek that gave him sleepy kisses in the morning, played with his hair, and snuggled with him as a wolf. God, Stiles loved Derek’s wolf form. He was so warm and cuddly, and he loved belly rubs. But ‘baby?’ Or the far more sexual variation of ‘baby boy,’ and damn, his stomach did that swoopy thing whenever Derek called him that. In bed, he could come just from that.

Derek hadn’t always had a nickname for him. It was a rather recent development that came to be during his second winter break at Columbia a few months ago - the first time they’d gone back to Beacon Hills. Somehow it had evolved into something a little filthier, but at the same time, sweet. Like Stiles could hear both the hunger and the fondness in his tone at the same time.

“So, when do I get to hear your new track?” Stiles asked as he wandered back into the living room with his own breakfast.

“Hmmm?” Derek tilted his head back and watched Stiles upside down. “How about now?”

“Really?” Stiles hopped over the back of the couch and settled in beside Derek with his food. He reached for the headphones just out of reach, fingertips batting at air. “Gimme gimme!”

Derek slid the headphones over Stiles’ ears and nipped at the tip of Stiles’ nose. “You good?”

Stiles nodded eagerly.

It started with a slow steady bass beat with an electronic trill, or whatever it was called. Stiles didn’t know the ins and outs of electronic music and all the fancy names, but he knew that Derek’s music was fucking amazing.

The music built and the bass dropped. Stiles swayed. Derek’s music literally moved him.

“DUDE! THIS IS FREAKING EPIC!” Stiles said, and Derek winced. “I’M TOTALLY YELLING, AREN’T I!”

Derek stole the headphones back. Somehow, he’d managed to devour the French Toast while Stiles had been lost in the ebb and flow of the beat.

“Jesus. You put Lydia’s scream to shame,” Derek said, to which Stiles childishly stuck out his tongue and shoved a bite of syrupy goodness into his mouth.

“It’s totally awesome. Can’t wait to hear it at the club,” Stiles said. “You know what it needs though...”

“More cowbell,” Derek said at the exact same time as Stiles, and rolled his eyes.

“Jinx,” Derek said so fast it left Stiles open mouthed. “What’s wrong, baby? Wolf got your tongue?”

Stiles screeched. It wasn’t words. He hadn’t spoken, so technically, he hadn’t broken the rules of the jinx, but it was all he could do to convey his shock. Not only had Derek gotten the better of him with the sacred art of the jinx, but he was cracking jokes knowing full well that Stiles couldn’t counter with his own witty brand of repartee.

“Well,” Derek said. He polished off the rest of his breakfast and stretched. His old Mets jersey riding up a little, and Stiles moaned quietly. “I’m gonna take a shower. Howl if you need anything.”

Stiles nearly dropped his plate as he squawked in dismay. His mouth opened and closed silently for several moments.

The shower started up in the bathroom on the other side of the apartment, and the shower curtain swished.

Left in the quiet of the apartment alone, Stiles was overcome with a brief rush of panic. His plate clattered on the coffee table. He thundered across the apartment and burst into the bathroom. It was already hot and steamy. Derek liked to take ridiculously hot showers that would scald a regular human. They rarely showered together because of it. Inevitably, someone complained.

Stiles wrenched open the shower curtain to reveal a very naked, wet, and rather amused Derek.

“Yes?” Derek drawled. He lathered his soap and scrubbed himself down as if Stiles wasn’t standing beside the stall gaping at him.

Shaking himself out of his stupor, because hello, sexy naked werewolf, and gestured wildly. He pointed at himself, then held his hands far apart, then brought them close together.

Derek raised his eyebrows at him. “You want a footlong?”

Stiles banged his head against the wall. This wasn’t fair. He needed to know the rules. If someone had to say his real name, the Polish monstrosity that only Derek ever used, then he would be mute the rest of his life, but if his self-proclaimed name of Stiles counted, then he would be talking within a few hours.

Stiles tried to mime his question to Derek again, which earned him a chuckle.

“Yes, your nickname counts as your name,” Derek said and flicked bubbles at him. “As refreshing as the silence will be, I would miss you begging for my cock.” He swished the curtain closed. “Don’t worry. You can still moan around it without speaking.”

Stiles huffed and crossed his arms over his chest. He wasn’t pouting. It wasn’t a pout. It totally wasn’t. He stomped out of the bathroom.

The jinx was sacred. He couldn’t break the rules of the jinx without consequences. When he was younger, he and Scott would solemnly break a jinx placed on the other, no questions asked, but were cruel when they jinxed each other.

One time, Scott was jinxed for three days. His mother almost took him to the doctor because he refused to speak. Stiles had nearly killed himself laughing. His father hadn’t been quite as amused and marched him over to the McCall house to explain.

Stiles skidded into the bedroom. He tripped over a pair of boxers on the floor, probably his, and face planted on the bed two inches from his laptop. That could have hurt.

The laptop fan hummed as Stiles waited for it to boot up. He seriously needed to consider dropping some serious coin on a new one. He’d had the same one since middle school, and as reliable as it was, it was ancient in the tech world. Even Derek had beat him into the modern age with a sleek new MacBook Pro.

Stiles logged into skype. If anyone could help him, it was Scott. He played with a hole in the blanket while he waited for the call to connect. It was probably from one of Derek’s claws. They usually were. Things tended to get a little wild in bed.

“Hey man, I’m a little busy right now,” Scott said as soon as his face popped up on the screen. He was using his phone app because the image was a super close up. “Can I call you back in a bit?”

Stiles flailed his arms about, trying to convey his dilemma through the world’s worst game of charades. He’d always sucked at that. Though surprisingly, with Derek as a partner, he wasn’t terrible. The sourwolf managed to deduce what he was trying to convey most of the time.

“Dude, what the hell,” Scott said. “Are you okay.”

Stiles pointed frantically at his own mouth, opening and closing it silently several times while Scott stared at him in utter bewilderment. He loved the guy, but sometimes, Scott was so helplessly clueless.

“Wait, can you not talk?” Scott finally said, and Stiles nodded. “Oh my god. Oh shit. Okay! Okay! Is it like a curse? Shit.” The camera bounced. Scott’s image was a little blurry as he rushed around his dorm room. “I’ll be on the next flight. We’ll figure this out. Where’s Derek? Is he okay? Can he talk? Are you both in one piece?”

Stiles facepalmed so hard that the slap echoed through the apartment, and Scott stopped. He stood with his head cocked to the side like a dog intently listening until he began laughing hysterically.

“Oh my god, dude. Derek jinxed you. That’s just... oh my god.” Scott laughed so hard that Stiles could see tears forming in the corners of his eyes. “Man, that’s just too good. Fuck, I can’t help you. He’s telling me not to. Payback for the little girl incident, apparently? I don’t know what that is, but you probably deserve it.”

The incident in question involved Derek in his full shift at the park, and a little girl, around six, who wanted to pet the pretty dog. Stiles had gone along with it, showing her how to give Derek little scritches behind the ears, even if the parents of the little girl had looked terrified that Derek would maul their daughter.

Stiles flipped Scott off and ended the call by shutting his laptop screen. Scott’s laughter carried on for several more seconds before the hibernation kicked in and his computer fell asleep.

Sighing, Stiles curled up on the bed as Derek wandered into their shared bedroom area with a towel slung low on his hips while he ran his fingers through damp hair.

“You okay?” Derek asked. Stiles lifted his head at the soft tone. “You have a few hours before class. Do you want to watch a movie or something?”

Stiles shook his head and shoved his laptop into his bag. His plan had been to hit up the coffee shop at the end of the block to finish his paper on the Japanese folklore roots within the movie Departures. He and Derek had watched it together last week. Or tried to. Somehow it ended with Derek’s cock buried in his throat and bright, glowing blue eyes staring down at him.

By the time Stiles was dressed and in the elevator, he regretted leaving. He’d seen the sad eyes Derek was throwing him, but Stiles couldn't help the insecurity he felt.

What if Derek preferred him quiet? Stiles had always been loud and obnoxious, and Derek told him to shut up... a lot. It led to him being thrown against hard surfaces often, and not in the good way. Well, sometimes in the good way. But usually, Derek was looking for a way to shut him up, and now he had it.

After class, Stiles wasn’t doing much better, and he was no closer to being unjinxed. He’d never realized how little people actually called others by name. Only one girl had said his name when she had chased him down in the quad and asked him out.

The entire experience had been horrifying because he couldn’t even explain that he had a boyfriend. All he could do was shake his head, smile sadly, and hurry away.

God, her expression had been heartbreaking. Stiles hated himself for it. He’d take her for coffee sometime and explain in the least weird and creepy way as possible, maybe even throw in a few shirtless Derek pics for her benefit. Sometimes he still couldn’t believe he had Derek.

His prof had almost seemed relieved he wasn’t contributing to the class. Usually, he openly debated with anyone that would take him on, and tossed in a few of his ideas here or there. By the end of the class, he had sunk so low in his seat, he could barely see over the edge of his laptop screen.

Trudging down the hall to their apartment, Stiles dragged his messenger bag behind him, slumped in defeat. The door opened before he even reached it.

Derek pulled Stiles into a tight hug with his nose buried in Stiles’ neck and whined. “You smell miserable,” he said. “What happened?”

Stiles shook his head and clung to Derek. He couldn’t do much else without speech.

“Are you still jinxed?” Derek pulled back and held Stiles by the shoulders at arms’ length and studied his expression. “Is it really that terrible for you not to speak?”

Stiles huffed and shoved Derek out of the way. The werewolf barely budged, but it was enough for Stiles to slip past him and into the apartment.

At this rate, he was going to need to learn ASL. Scratch that. That sounded like a cool idea anyway. ASL was awesome. Maybe if he taught Derek, they could have silent conversations. 

Not that they didn’t already do that. Derek’s eyebrows were a language of their own, and Stiles had spent years learning to read each minute quirk, movement, and arch. He could write poetry about Derek’s eyebrows. Okay, maybe he already had. But that would never see the light of day.

Ten minutes into the dinner Derek had made, Derek still hadn’t said his name once. It was then, Stiles realized something.

The only time Derek ever called him by name was in bed, when he was worried for his safety or life, or when he told him to shut up. Which happened a lot, but without his ability to speak, it gave Derek no reason to use his name.

Unless...

Stiles hopped off his barstool and spun Derek to face him. He dropped to his knees and forced Derek’s apart, dragging his hands down his boyfriend’s muscular thighs. Smirking, he nuzzled Derek’s large warm hand when it cupped his cheek.

“Fuck, baby,” Derek whined. He ran his thumb over Stiles’ parted lips. “Not right now. Now while you smell so sad. Stiles...” He voice trailed into a low moan as Stiles sucked the thumb into his mouth.

That was two. All he needed was one more, and he was free.

Stiles led Derek across the apartment by the hand and shoved him down on the couch.  He quickly followed and straddled Derek’s lap. It didn’t take much to coax Derek into a sloppy kiss, dinner long forgotten and cooling on the counter in the kitchen. Derek didn’t seem to mind all that much.

Derek whined when Stiles tugged at his hair. His arms curled around Stiles’ waist and dragged him closer until Stiles’ butt settled snugly over the already burgeoning erection trapped in his jeans.

Subtle thrusts devolved into frantic rutting. Stiles attached his mouth to the underside of Derek’s jaw and sucked hickeys into his skin despite the marks disappearing before he begun the next. Derek’s fingers dug into soft curve of his ass, hurriedly rocking against him.

Each little whimper was music to Stiles’ ears. He loved when Derek was like this, so pliant and submissive. Happy to give Stiles free reign and trust him to give Derek the pleasure he deserved, because he did, deserve it, that is. Derek deserved so much, and sometimes it was so hard for his boyfriend to accept that simple truth. Stiles wanted to give Derek the world.

“Fuck... you’re so good, baby boy,” Derek moaned. “So good.”

Stiles slithered to the floor and buried his nose in Derek’s crotch, mouthing the impressive bulge in his jeans. Fingers tightened in his hair, grinding his face into the denim. Stiles couldn’t hold back his own needy moan. He liked being good.

His collar was safely tucked away in its box in the drawer of their bedside table. Stiles hadn’t worn it in awhile. Maybe he needed to. It grounded him. Reminded him he was wanted, needed; loved.

“Do you want this?” Derek murmured. He tilted Stiles head back. It lolled to the side. His lips parted as he panted softly. “Hey... I need to hear it, baby boy. Are you okay?” He cupped Stiles’ flushed, warm cheeks and forced him to look hi in the eyes, but Stiles couldn't answer. “Stiles!”

His name. That was his name.

Stiles blinked. “I can talk,” he said slowly. His voice was a little gruff from hours of disuse. He jumped to his feet. “That’s three! I can talk! I’m free!”

“You...” Derek gaped. Stiles could see it slowly sink in. “You little shit. You played me.”

Stiles squealed as Derek tackled him to the floor. He threw his head back against the hardwood floor and laughed as his boyfriend nipped at his jaw and dragged the tip of his nose along Stiles’ throat.

“Good,” Derek growled. “Now you can scream my name.”

Stiles moaned. “Oh, fuck yeah.”

**Author's Note:**

> You can stalk me on Tumblr here: [Always the Little Spoon](http://always-the-little-spoon.tumblr.com/)


End file.
